


Prize

by Inky_Blackheart



Series: Power (And Control) [1]
Category: Berserk (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Porn, Dubious Morality, Explicit Sexual Content, I have no idea what to tag this with, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Orgasm Delay/Denial, POV Griffith (Berserk), Porn with Feelings, Possessive Behavior, Pre-Eclipse (Berserk), Prostitution, Rough Sex, Uncircumcised Penis, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:21:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27457906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inky_Blackheart/pseuds/Inky_Blackheart
Summary: "“Your body is very yielding today,” Griffith remarked. “I dare say you’re getting used to this.”“Don’t get much choice, do I?” Guts said sadly.Griffith bit his lip, pulling his hand back and adding his pointer finger. “No,” he admitted, “I suppose not.”"What if Griffith took Guts up on both his offers?
Relationships: Griffith/Guts (Berserk)
Series: Power (And Control) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2006137
Comments: 19
Kudos: 97





	Prize

**Author's Note:**

> Don't offer things you don't want to give.
> 
> Inspired by Killer Bambi.

**PRIZE **  
  


_One never got used to the rush following a tense battle_ , Griffith mused as he walked through the clearing the Band of the Hawk had picked out for their camp. A cool breeze rustled the mid-autumn leaves surrounding them, a few breaking off and fluttering through the air. Winter was coming soon, and Griffith doubted that the camp would be filled with nearly as much merriment as it was now. The whole area stank of stress-sweat, almost sour mead, and the copper tang of blood. Griffith’s legs shook as he walked, the adrenaline coursing through him still, making each movement distinct, purposeful. His hands, curled into fists, were clammy and damp without his gloves, his nails digging into his slick palm. He felt as if he was still on the battle-field, his head light and his palms damp, yet his mind was razor-focused on the path to his tent.

He waved at a few of his men as he walked, faking a friendly smile as best he could. His half-battle-drunk lust-fuelled smirk wasn’t appropriate for them. He felt angry, but he could not determine why. Perhaps the few losses the Hawks had taken were weighing heavily on his mind, though it could have been anything, from a stray look from an enemy soldier to the annoying ring of Corkus’s laugh sounding through the clearing. It was times like this he was especially glad for his recent….acquisition.

None of the men were drunk enough yet to comment on his destination, and they hadn't heard Guts' offer, but they’d been there when he’d dislocated the poor bastard’s shoulder and pronounced the man his. There was no way they didn’t know what he did in his tent. Casca glared at him from her place by the fire, and some of the raiding party elbowed each other and snickered into their hands. Griffith bit back a snarl. He calmed himself with the knowledge that he was the only one who got to enjoy this particular spoil of victory.

Judeau was leaning against the pole of his own tent, watching Griffith carefully as he approached. Griffith knew Judeau well enough that he didn’t bother with feigned politeness. “Should you not be celebrating with the others?” Griffith growled.

“In a moment.” Judeau bent down and picked up a large wooden cup, passing it to Griffith. It was full of water, lukewarm, just below the lip. “Figured you two would need this. He should probably eat at some point, too. Want me to save some of the venison?”

Griffith nodded, running a hand through his long damp hair to get it out of his face. “Please do. He gets so snappy when he’s hungry. I confess, in all the things I must do in a day, feeding him sometimes is forgotten.”

Judeau was quiet for a moment. Griffith raised an eyebrow at him, staring his warrior down. After a few moments, Judeau sighed and pushed off the pole. “I’ll make sure there’s enough left for you both, then.”

“Thank you,” Griffith said sincerely, though he clenched his fist. He was tired of waiting. The heat and the fever of battle raced through him, and he’d become too dependent on the man waiting for him in his tent to work it off so he could go back to being calm, cool and collected. “Enjoy the festivities.”

Judeau smirked knowingly. “You too,” he replied, walking away before Griffith could start throwing things at him.

Griffith could hear Gut’s soft snores as soon as he opened the flaps of the tent. The muscular young man was curled on his side, facing away from Griffith, the thin sheet Griffith allowed him pooled around his meaty thighs in the summer heat. The bandages around his ribs, covering stab wounds not quite healed yet, were damp and sticking to the lightly tanned rib cage beneath them. Little wisps of dark pubic hair peeked out from beneath it. Griffith’s mouth began to water like a starving beast. Guts wasn’t even trying, but he was so goddamn alluring that it tested Griffith’s control. He immediately began stripping off his armour, dropping it to the ground with a clang in his haste to be free of it.

That, finally, woke Guts up. “You’re back,” the dark-haired man said simply, rolling over to face Griffith. “Did you win?”

Griffith smiled warmly at him, his furious race to be rid of his clothes briefly paused. “Always.”

Guts smiled back. “Good.”

Griffith walked over to him, the urge to kiss his prize more pressing than his need to be out of his clothes. He bent down, grabbed Gut’s face as he did when he’d first won the man, and kissed him deeply, nudging his tongue at Gut’s sleep-slack mouth until it yielded to him. When he pulled away, Guts was panting, his lips already swollen and red. Griffith gave him a poke in the nose and turned away to finish undressing. “I should be out there with you, you know,” Guts whispered. Griffith sighed. He hated it when his prize was like this. He was a skilled swordsman, yes, but he was still injured, and Griffith couldn’t trust him not to run away at the first opportunity. He unlaced his breeches and pushed them down his legs, pulling his shirt over his head, finally as nude as his Guts.

The cool night air felt electrifying on his skin, his entire body breaking out into goose pimples. His cock was already hard, leaking against his taut stomach. Griffith walked back over to his bedroll, where he found Guts sitting up watching him. He pushed the larger man back down onto the mat, pinning his arms to his sides. With his feet, he kicked the sheet away. “No,” Griffith said against his lips, “you won’t be going with us. Not yet.”

Guts looked away, his dark hair falling into his face, obscuring his beautiful brown eyes. Griffith reached up, letting go of Gut’s arms to brush it away. “Don’t pout,” Griffith warned, his hand trailing down his lover’s cheek to his neck, putting gentle pressure around his windpipe. “You know I hate it.”

“Fuck you.” Guts snapped. “I hate it when I don’t eat for three days, but you don’t hear me bellyaching about it.”

Griffith raised his hand, fully prepared to slap him, but the man did have a point. Griffith sighed and lowered his hand, leaning forward to bite along Gut’s thick neck. “Fine,” he conceded, “you can fight with us when our surgeon says you’re fully healed, and not a moment before.”

Guts huffed. “Whatever.”

Now that wouldn’t do.

Guts tensed as Griffith bit hard into the juncture of his neck and shoulder, his back arching. Griffith drew back and smirked at the teeth marks he’d left behind. He knew that come the morning, Guts would be absolutely covered in love bites and hickeys. The man would be incensed, try to cover it, and refuse to leave the tent. Griffith soothed the mark with his tongue, Gut’s stubborn cock making itself known against his flank. He seized it with his hand, wrapping his fingers tightly around the base. Guts bit his lip, suppressing the moans and whines Griffith knew were coming. “You should say thank you when someone gives you what you’ve asked for.”

“Hell no. I ain’t thanking you for…”

Griffith tightened his grip. “Thank me, or I won’t let you cum at all tonight.”

Guts met Griffith’s eyes, that intoxicating defiance still burning within them. Griffith wondered if it would ever really leave, if he’d fight him until the day he died, despite Griffith giving him what he knew they’d both come to crave. Griffith mouthed at his ear, sucking on the lobe. Guts groaned, shaking beneath him, hips canting up for more friction. Griffith knew this trick. He pulled off, sitting on Gut’s legs, hand still gripping his lover too tight for comfort.

“Thank you.” Guts murmured.

“I didn’t catch that,” Griffith said, tossing his hair back.

Guts let out a low growl. “I said thank you, you son of a bitc--”

Griffith pounced once more, grinding against Gut’s body, jacking his cock as he did. Griffith pressed his own cock into Gut’s thigh as he rutted against him. He needed release. He’d needed it since the last Tudor soldier retreated. But he had to get Guts desperate first, or getting it in would be a fight and a half. “You’re lucky I need you, or I’d make you pay for that last part.”

Guts laughed, surprisingly Griffith with the gentleness of it. “Yeah, right. If I wasn’t such a stubborn asshole, you’d have gotten bored of me already.”

Guts was right, but he still got a smack to the leg for it.

The friction was wonderful, the slick slide of sweat-drenched skin against sweat-drenched skin sending fire through Griffith’s veins, but it wasn’t enough. He needed to be buried to the hilt in Guts, and he needed the presence of mind to prep him. He’d learned the hard way that he couldn’t take him raw. His chest still hurt from how hard Guts had kicked him when he tried. Griffith reached under the pillow and pulled out the vile of oil he kept for just such a purpose. “Getting the oil already?” Guts sneered at him, meeting his eyes with dark mirth. “You must be really desperate for it tonight.”

“Mostly desperate not to get hit,” Griffith retorted. Gut’s sneer vanished, panic filling his eyes instead. At some point, Griffith would need to ask about that, but as the scent and heat of their bodies filled the tent he decided not to. Guts slowly moved his legs apart, biting his lip as he did. Griffith sat back and put his hands on Gut’s knees and gently moved them up, giving him easier access to his hole. The little pink pucker still had a sheen from their pre-battle escapade a few hours prior. Griffith uncapped the bottle and carefully poured oil onto his fingers, shifting closer as he did to pepper Gut’s chest, neck and face with soft kisses. Guts’ eyes fluttered shut. This was when Griffith knew he could start. He slid his middle finger all the way to the knuckle, massaging the loose passage. “Your body is very yielding today,” Griffith remarked. “I dare say you’re getting used to this.”

“Don’t get much choice, do I?” Guts said sadly.

Griffith bit his lip, pulling his hand back and adding his pointer finger. “No,” he admitted, “I suppose not.” To assuage his guilt, Griffith felt for the bundle of nerves he knew would get Guts going. His cock was already drooling onto his defined abdomen muscles, flushed hard and crimson, his foreskin pulled back and the slick head peeking out. When he’d found it, Guts let out a cry that he knew the whole camp would hear. His prize started breathing heavily, letting out the odd low whine. Griffith scissored his fingers, feeling his lover relax under him easily. He wouldn’t need a third finger. Good. He didn’t have the patience for it.

He crawled over Guts, roughing throwing the man’s legs over his shoulders and lining up his cock. Guts moaned, the deep rumbling sound tapering into a whimper. Once he realized he’d made the sound, he immediately clamped a hand over his mouth. Griffith laughed, pushing just the head of his cock inside. Guts glared at him but didn’t resist, apparently just as eager as he was. “That was adorable, my dear.”

“No pet names,” Guts protested weakly, “and I’m a man, damn it. I ain’t adorable.”

“How utterly arousing, then.” Griffith slammed his hips forward, knocking the fight out of Guts completely. “Is that better? Do you feel what that sound did to me?”

“Fuck, how could I not?” Guts wheezed, covering his face with his arm. It was bigger than Griffith’s, well muscled. Not surprising, considering the slab of metal the other man called a sword. “You’re so deep inside me. Christ.”

Griffith started thrusting, relishing the drag of his cock on the walls of Gut’s tight hole. Even though they’d done this hours ago, he was still tight. Griffith started shallow, but soon pulled all the way out and slammed back in, striking Gut’s prostate dead on. Guts howled, thrashing, his hips pumping as he met Griffith thrust for thrust. “And you’re tight,” Griffith managed, “so damn tight.”

Guts didn’t respond, his eyes rolling back as he lost himself to the pleasure. Even if this was not his ideal situation, Griffith did try to make it as good for his partner as possible. He wasn’t far gone enough for that yet. He could feel the lube and cum from earlier inside Guts, easing his breach further. God, he was so tight it had barely leaked out. Griffith got onto his knees and hoisted Guts up with him, slamming into him so hard the bedroll was starting to slide. Guts got loud when they did this. Sometimes he’d scream Griffith’s name, sometimes he’d cry out to God, but it was mostly incoherent babbling and animalistic cries. Griffith was determined to make Guts cum from his cock alone this time. He sped up, moving harder, faster, rougher than any woman would want it, but he knew Guts could take it. That was why he’d taken his prize up on his offer. He wanted to see this man come apart beneath him.

Guts squeezed around him, signalling that he’d soon find his release. Griffith snarled and leaned forward, biting into Gut’s neck, wanting it tighter, hotter. Guts shrieked, his release finding him instantly, shooting cum between them, all over them, both men sticky and wet with consummation. Griffith’s hands moved to Gut’s ass and he gripped the two globes hard as he speared him, rammed him, plowed his lover into the ground, only stopping when his balls drew up to his chest and he emptied himself inside Gut’s tight passage.

He finally let Guts down, slowly, their panting and wheezing and groaning the only sounds in the tent. The merriment outside was a low din, reminding Griffith that the world outside existed. He pulled out of Guts, staring with glee as he watched cum drip out behind him. Guts blushed furiously, snagging the sheet and covering himself. “Pervert.”

Griffith laughed. “Can I not inspect what is mine?”

Guts gritted his teeth. “Fuck off, asshole.”

Griffith laid down beside Guts, resting his head on the other man’s warm chest. Guts would need a bath soon. He was starting to reek of sex constantly, which was not conducive to a productive day or a good night’s sleep. Griffith stole some of the sheet, pulling it over his body as well. “I remind you that you told me that, should I win our duel, that I could have either your sword or your ass. You belong to me.”

“I never thought you’d take both,” Guts admitted. Slowly but surely, he wrapped his arm around Griffith, pulling him closer. His heart was still pounding rabbit-quick in his chest, a flush covering from his cheeks to his chest. “Well, not the first one yet. Eventually. When I heal from you stabbing me.”

“Hmm.” Griffith was starting to get sleepy. Now that the adrenaline and bloodlust and sex-craze had died down, he found he had no energy left. Somewhere in his mind, he remembered Judeu’s water, crawling across the floor of the tent to retrieve it. He gave it to Guts first, holding back a laugh when half the water missed his mouth. Griffith didn’t have much left for himself, but it was worth it to hear Guts let out a contented sigh. “Never offer me things you don’t want to give, my dear Guts.” Griffith finished the water and put it down. “Though I imagine most don’t take you up on the offer for your ass, given your prowess with a sword.”

Guts was silent for a moment. “They don’t ask. They just take it. I’d rather just get it out of the way, offer it, so I can still walk the next day.”

Griffith stilled beside him. “I see.”

“But you are the only one who’s taken me up on the offer. The last time...hasn’t been since I was a kid.” Guts said, his hand drifting to Griffith’s hair, wrapping the sweat-drenched strands around his thick fingers. Griffith felt something odd in his heart. It was hard to picture Guts as a defenceless child, but he found himself sad for Guts, imagining the little boy he once was as well, and how he would not have been able to handle being used like that. Griffith pressed a gentle kiss to Guts’ pectoral. “Wouldn’t kill you to feed me more, though.”

Griffith chuckled. “I suppose so. I need you back in fighting shape soon.” He pushed himself back on his elbows. “You can say no. If you don’t want me to. Do you know that?”

Guts blinked at him. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I figured you weren’t that type of man.”

 _You’ve no idea what type of man I am_ , Griffith thought, laying back down and snuggling into Gut’s chest. “Judeu will bring us some food soon.”

Guts nodded, his eyes getting sleepy. Griffith hated to admit it, but these moments were half the reason he took Guts up on his offer. These moments where the tough mercenary-turned-personal whore was relaxed, unguarded. Where Griffith could pretend Guts was as in love with him as he was was with him. “That sounds good. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Griffith felt a swell of warmth and pride in his chest. It made him slightly nauseous. He couldn’t go back now. Even if Guts tried to run during his first battle, Griffith would chase him to the ends of the Earth. Guts was his. If anyone tried to separate them, he’d kill them. The King of Midland, hell, God himself, wouldn’t keep them apart.

One never got used to the adrenaline of battle, Griffith knew, but one never got used to the emotions following love-making either. That’s what this was. He couldn’t pretend otherwise.

Griffith took a deep breath and settled in for an uneasy sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Long-time listener, first-time caller in the Berserk fandom. 
> 
> Honestly, I'm not sure how Muira didn't realize that a lot of the things Guts and Griffith say to each other are really, really, extremely, sexual. I was making some Berserk amvs (see the link below if you'd like to watch 'em) and I was looking for audio clips. I was reminded of the infamous "my sword or my ass" line and thus, this fic was born. 
> 
> I have a few more in this 'verse if folkx want to see them. Even if you don't, I wrote them so I'm still publishing them. XD
> 
> A/N: Comments are being moderated now. 
> 
> My Tumblr: https://inkyblacc.tumblr.com/
> 
> My YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC97JcI76oZWkH25xm3BHRPQ


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